What Should Have Been Said
by 100gamesvictor
Summary: In COB, Luke said he tried to convince Jocelyn to go to the Institute in Paris for help. What if he managed to do that? What if stopping the Circle got them more than a ticket out of Idris? One thing is for sure, everything will change.
1. The Fairest Gifts

**So this is a little something that I've worked up about the Mortal Instruments. It started out as some notes in my math notebook and it turned into this. I've decided to turn it into a full fledged story.**

**Warning: AU**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Mortal Instruments or any of the characters. These fantastic people all belong to the great and powerful Cassandra Clare.**

* * *

The cheap motel room in the heart of Paris was dark and empty save for a man and a woman; the only guests. They sat in the darkness of the dark wood paneled walls and furniture while the murmuring of activity in Paris hustled and bustled below—even at eleven at night.

Dim light from the blinds cracks fell onto the floor and Lucian Graymark stood by the blinds peeking through them to see the city beyond. His brown hair was hidden in shadows and almost made it look black while the light from the blinds hit his skin and gave it a whitish sheen to it. His blue eyes raked over the street below and he turned to look worriedly at the woman curled up on the bed.

Her red hair hung limply around her head as Jocelyn Morgenstern hugged her knees. Her head was buried within them and she wept silently for her son. The boy had only been months old, not even born when he was destroyed by his father. The demon taint that ran through his veins destroyed him from the womb and she let it happen. If she had only done something, realized Valentine's plan, then he wouldn't have been destroyed.

"Jocelyn," Luke said absently, barely turning to look away from the window. The woman lifted her head up to reveal tear filled green eyes. This silent acknowledgement made Lucian continue. "We have no money, no plans, nothing. We need help. I can't find anything but you…you can go to the Institute and ask for help. They'll give it to you."

Vehemently, the first display of emotion in days, Jocelyn shook her head. "No," she sniffled. "I'm done. I don't want to keep losing people. This life of scars and violence is over. I want no part of it."

Luke sighed, expecting the response. She had said the same thing two days before when he had asked her in London, but she needed to help him understand why. "I get that but—"

"But nothing," she snapped. "This is what I want. I have nothing left to live for here."

"That's not true," Luke denied tiredly. "You have to keep going. You can't be one of the casualties of heartbreak. I lost my mother to it when my father died. We've seen it happen all the time. Don't let it take you."

"I won't," she intervened instantly. "But I can't live out my life if I'm constantly being reminded of the life and family that I've lost. No," she shook her head. "I need to start a new life. It has to be free of the Shadow World. That's the only way that I can really move on."

The sad truth was that Luke understood what she was implying. Nothing that reminded her of her life as a Shadowhunter could be allowed. Not even him.

"So you're leaving," he concluded.

She nodded her head in confirmation. "I'm going to try my hand at mundane life. Live out my life normally so that I don't have to deal with death anymore."

"Why?" asked Luke. "Why now? Death isn't uncommon for Shadowhunters. You're tough enough to survive this the way you are."

Finally, as if deciding something vital, Jocelyn looked to him. "I am," she confirmed. "But I don't want my unborn child to have to grow up to be that strong. I want him or her to grow up not constantly knowing the pain of death. They deserve that."

Lucian stood there gob smacked. "A baby?" he asked. "You're pregnant?"

"Yeah," nodded Jocelyn. "And now you get it. I need to leave to give them a life they deserve. What they should have."

"What they should have is a Shadowhunter upbringing," Luke exclaimed. "That child should have the choice to decide what they want from their life. Taking that choice from them makes you no better then—"

Luke cut off, shocked that he almost did the unthinkable. It was impossible to compare Jocelyn to Valentine. They were totally different. Valentine was a psychopath while Jocelyn was a kind, caring and amazing person. Nothing she ever did could even familiarize her with him.

The words, or unsaid name, sent shockwaves through Jocelyn. Was Lucian right? Was she any better than Valentine? Valentine had given demon blood to their son while in the womb and turned him into a monster against his will. Was she any different? Here she was making a decision for her child that would have a profound effect on them for the rest of their lives without giving them the chance to grow up and decide for themselves. How could she do that to the?

"Jocelyn," Lucian tried softly. "I didn't mean it like that. You're nothing like that sociopath. But you have to think about the consequences of your decision. In twenty years, will your child be thankful that you had taken them from everything they could have had growing up? If the answer might be no then you can't go through with this. It doesn't just affect you. You have a child to think about."

She was thinking about her child. She didn't want the baby to ever have to know the life of murder and pain that she did. But there were good parts to being a Shadowhunter; parts she loved. Could she really take the wonderful parts from her child? In truth, she didn't think so.

"Alright," she said, disentangling herself for the first time. "Let's get to the Institute here in Paris and ask for help."

Shock crossed Luke's face, as if he never believed that she would listen to him, before he sighed in relief. He walked over to the end table that they kept their duffle bag with their clothes in and began packing up.

"We should get ready," whispered Luke.

Jocelyn pushed herself off the bed, ignoring the aching limbs from staying in one position for far too long, and walked over to help Luke. The two picked up all their clothes, struggling in the darkness because neither ever thought of turning on a light, before they were sure that they had gotten them all.

Luke slung the bag over his shoulder and the two were about to set off when everything changed. A brilliant white light shone in their path causing them to turn their heads to avoid blindness. The light encompassed the room for several seconds before dying down to a bright glimmer. Hesitantly, the two turned to face a man.

In fact, man wouldn't accurately describe the being standing before them. He wore a pure white robe that allowed them to see the brilliant gold runes not unlike the ones adorning Jocelyn's skin from her Shadowhunter heritage though his were alive and moving as if they had minds of their own. A halo of golden hair framed his chiseled face that looked to be made of marble in its color and firmness. From his back stretched six golden wings each with a single eye glistening on all the feathers. An ethereal aura seemed to come off him in waves as he stood firm and tall in the center of their drabby motel room.

Though they had never met, and all attempts to capture his likeness in pictures and tapestries had failed miserably, Jocelyn immediately new his name. "_Raziel."_

"_Not for a thousand years have I walked this earth_," he spoke in a voice that seemed to flow like honey and sing like a church choir at the same time. "_Still, it is heaven's will that I come to the pair of you."_

Neither moved a muscle as they gazed upon the angel that had begun the Nephilim race. The vibrating pulse of his presence did not fade as he spoke and they could feel his divine energy pouring into them, like water passing through rocks into a pool.

"_Never in human history has a massacre been avoided quite like the one the two of you prevented,"_ he spoke, gazing into their eyes emotionlessly. "_For that, you have earned…rewards."_

For the first time, he looked directly to Lucian, gazing into his blue eyes with eyes a pure shining gold. "_The curse,"_ he spoke. "_That you so despise shall be taken from you. You will be whole and of the Nephilim again, though that had not changed due to your lycanthropy."_

Luke couldn't process what the Angel had said. Lycanthropy gone? It was impossible. The demonic illness could not be removed. A millennium's worth of Nephilim had been unable to do it. The Angel that stood before him was giving him his life back.

Then, Raziel raised his hand. A swirling vortex of brilliant golden white light encompassed Luke and his body felt like it had erupted in encompassing, pleasant flames. It surrounded him and as it drew into him, he felt strength and a sense of self that he had not felt since his attack return to him. As the light died and the vortex fade, he knew that he had been freed.

Dropping down to his knees, Luke bowed his head. "I will never thank you enough My Lord Raziel."

The Angel looked strangely at Luke, as if he couldn't understand something crucial about Luke's gesture. "_Rise,"_ he spoke. "_For none of God's children are any greater than any other nor do they deserve praise for the Lord's work."_

Slowly, Luke rose to his feet, grasping Jocelyn's arm as she held it out for him to help him up. Gratitude shone in his eyes as he looked upon the Angel and nodded in silence.

The Angel's attention turned to Jocelyn. The red haired woman stood watching the Angel with Awe in her eyes as she gazed upon him. He looked to her calmly and spoke in a soft, gentle tone.

"_I know of your wish,"_ he uttered. "_You wish for your son, Jonathan Christopher to be with you in his entirety. Without the taint of demon that was inflicted on him by Valentine Morgenstern. So be it. All of Valentine's experiments shall be undone. In their lives it will be as if he never touched them."_

A brilliant white light shone on the bed. "_Be warned Jocelyn Morgenstern,"_ the Angel cautioned. "_The removal of demon ichor will leave him different. His appearance will alter as your presence in him changes."_

"I don't care," Jocelyn whispered as she watched the light begin to fade. "I just want my son."

And then the light faded. Lying on the bed, sleeping at the moment, was a baby boy. He lay there, unaware of the Angel he was in the presence of and his sleeping form wiggled under the light.

Tears were streaming down Jocelyn's face and she marched forward and picked the child up. Just as on the day of his birth, Jocelyn noted that he fit snugly, perfectly into her arms and his head of now strawberry blond hair tickled her forearm pleasantly. She rocked him in her arms and held him tightly to her person as she glanced back to the Angel.

"Thank you," she told him tearfully. In the first display of emotion seen by either of them, the Angel smiled kindly at the both of them huddled around the sleep Jonathan, and allowed a bright light to consume him as he disappeared.

* * *

The streets of Paris suddenly seemed kinder to Jocelyn and Luke as she hurried down the busy streets. They passed rundown buildings and excellently preserved homes from the past on their way to the Institute of Paris. The streets were far emptier then during the day but they still passed several people as they made their way through street fairs and parks.

Jocelyn held Jonathan close to her, holding his head in the niche of her neck as she hustled down the streets. Luke kept one hand firmly on her back as he maneuvered them through the crowd of people.

"Luke," Jocelyn whispered over the talk of the people on the street. "How much longer?"

"I don't know," Luke said, not looking down to her. "It can't be that much farther to the Institute. I think we're almost there."

Indeed, they turned a corner onto a more remote street. The older brick homes were all made of red bricks and had green plants in the gardens that were darkened by the shadows of the night. On the left side of the street, a large gothic style church with spires rising into heaven and piercing the dark night, was the Institute. The stone walls were interspersed with windows with glistening witchlights in the windows.

Luke pushed the wrought iron gate open and the pair, along with Jonathan, walked through the well-trimmed grass up to the front door. The ancient oak doors were twice the size of Jocelyn but she paid them no mind as she thought the oath to enter. _I am Jocelyn Morgenstern. I am one of the Nephilim and I ask for safety of this church in my quest to eradicate demon kind._

As with all Institutes, the door swung open to reveal a well-lit church with aged pews leading up to an alter. Candelabras glittered with witchlight along the isles and to the side of the room a doorway went up to what must have been the rest of the Institute.

"Come on," Luke muttered as they moved toward the stairwell.

Their footsteps echoed off the church walls as the ascended the stairs. As they rose, the walls opened up to a well-lit room with warm heat and plush carpets covering the ground. Several sofas and tables were in the room and there were large windows overlooking the city of Paris.

"Hello!" Jocelyn called, her voice echoing in the room. "Hello!"

Then they heard it. There was a clamour from down the hall and, in the distance, they saw a figure coming toward them. She was a baby pink nightdress and her blond hair was in curlers around her somewhat bony face and she strode toward them worriedly.

"Hello," she said, just the barest hint of a French accent. "How may I help you?"

"Hi," Jocelyn said. "I'm Jocelyn Morgenstern and this is Lucian Graymark. We need a place to stay and supplies before we head back to Idris."

The woman's eyes widened and she took a small step back as she heard Jocelyn's name. "Morgenstern?" she asked.

Jocelyn nodded. "Valentine was my husband. He killed my parents and the two of us ran, fearful that he might come for us. But we need to get back. The fighting's over and we think we can help put those in the Circle in prisons."

The woman nodded after a moment. "Alright," she said hesitantly. "Come with me. I will show you to your rooms." She noticed baby Jonathan sleeping in Jocelyn's arms and said "And who is that?"

"This," Jocelyn smiled. "Is Jonathan Morgenstern. He's going to stay with me if that's alright."

"Of course, of course," the woman said. "I am Elodie Verlac, the head of the Institute of Paris. Please come with me."

Elodie led them down the hall. The Institute was decorated as all others were. The tapestries depicted the angel Raziel rising from Lake Lyn with the Mortal Sword and Cup in hand. Elodie motioned for Jocelyn to enter one of the rooms while she led Luke to another.

"Good night," Luke whispered in her ear before walking off, wrapping his arm around her shoulder for a moment before leaving Jocelyn and Jonathan alone in the room. The room was scarcely decorated with white walls and bedspread. The furniture lacked any individuality and Jocelyn knew that all rooms would be the same. Still, it was warm and she laid Jonathan down on the bed before turning to pull off her dirty clothes and pulled out a t-shirt and sweatpants from the drawers filled with clothes for Shadowhunters. She put Jonathan's head on a pillow as she climbed in next to him pulling him close to her as she slept.

* * *

Crying woke Jocelyn the morning after she came to the Institute. It roused her from her slumber in an instant because Jonathan never cried. It had unnerved her for months after he was born because he never cried when he was anywhere. He had showed practically no emotion and he was now crying for the first time she could remember.

Jocelyn pushed herself upright, taking in the bright yellow light on the white of the room. Jonathan's wails drew her attention and she pulled her son off the bed and cradled him in her arms. She rocked him for several moments as he calmed down.

"Hey," she cooed. "It's alright. Mommy's here. No need to be afraid."

Slowly, he calmed down. His face, red as his strawberry hair, slowly relaxed and she noticed, for the first time, his brilliant green eyes; her green eyes. He seemed to cocoon into her and gurgled as he hugged her chest.

Pushing herself out of bed, Jocelyn walked out of the room. She walked effortlessly through the Institute, its layout almost identical to that of all other Institutes she had been to. She walked down the hall and turned into the kitchen, noting that there were pancakes cooking and orange juice already on the table. Lucian and Elodie were working around the kitchen to get the food ready. Luke looked over to see Jocelyn standing there and smiled. "Jocelyn," he said. "Why don't you sit and we'll get some food for you and Jonathan."

Jocelyn calmly sat down as Luke laid a plate of pancakes in front of her. The golden circles were unnaturally round—Luke couldn't cook at all. Elodie must have made them otherwise she feared poisoning. Hesitantly picking up her fork, holding Jonathan at her side as she did, she bit into it. The pancakes were blueberry, her favorite, and there was a bit of cinnamon like her mother used to make for her as a child.

"Thank you," she said honestly. "These are fantastic."

"Oh no problem, dear," Elodie dismissed, "Lucian here told me how you preferred them and it was simple to make them. Here," she walked to the table, holding a bottle in hand. "My nephew Sebastian often stays here and this is a bit of the formula that we had for him. I already warmed it, but you should check it."

Putting her fork down, Jocelyn took the bottle from her hand. She maneuvered it so that she could drop a bit of the liquid on the back of her hand holding Jonathan and deemed it satisfactory, and began feeding Jonathan.

"So," Jocelyn began, "When can we get back to Idris?"

Elodie looked at her for a moment before replying, sitting down at the table with her meal. "I sent word to Idris about your arrival last night. They replied this morning and told me that they will arrange for you to be brought over. I believe they will open a portal for you. That should happen within the next few days. Until then, you need to wait."

Jocelyn nodded, eyes moving to glance out the high windows at the side of the kitchen. The blue sky shone with no clouds to tarnish its color and already she could hear the faint humming of a rising city from below.

"I was wondering," Luke began. "What happened after we left Idris?"

Elodie looked to him. "Yeah," agreed Jocelyn. "I was wondering that, too." They both looked to the woman inquisitively, questioning her silently. Finally, with a sigh, she confessed.

"I can't tell you that," she sighed. "The Clave doesn't want me to tell you anything until they question you. They need to know the full story."

Stunned, Jocelyn looked to Luke in surprise. His expression was hardly on of shock, a look of resigned understanding on his face.

"Are we allowed to wander about the Institute?" he asked complacently, polite intrigue in his gaze.

The woman nodded. "You're just not allowed to leave the Institute. Members of the Paris Conclave have been stationed around the perimeter of the Institute and at all exits. Do not try to escape and you will be fine."

"Of course," Jocelyn agreed, setting Jonathan's finished bottle down on the table and picking him up. "I'm going to put Jonathan down for a nap now. Excuse me." She got up, pulling Jonathan into her arms, and walked off.

* * *

Jocelyn's eyes shifted nervously around the halls of the Institute as she walked, checking each room individually as she passed in an attempt to see if anyone was watching her. She needed to protect a secret before she could get back to Idris. It had to be protected.

Entering her room, Jocelyn tightly sealed the door and walked over to the bed. She rocked a now drowsy Jonathan in her arms for a moment before settling him down on a mattress, letting him doze off into a pleasant slumber. Then, casually, Jocelyn walked over to the windows of her room that let in the brilliant sunlight and grasped the curtains. With one sharp pull she yanked them closed and the sunlight cut off, darkening the room save for the illuminating witchlight glimmering like torches around the room.

Unsure if the Shadowhunters outside would investigate her closing the curtains, Jocelyn hustled over to her duffle bag. She hastily unzipped it and began rummaging through the contents. For the most part she felt clothes until her hand touched a soft velvet substance unlike any of the clothes she had packed.

Swiftly, she pulled out the bag, undoing the knot in the top and allowing the bag to slide away to reveal a small golden cup. It was inlaid with rubies and patterns of small suns and it contained shimmering golden liquid.

It was still safe, she thought. Carefully, Jocelyn slid the cup back in to the back and tied it up, placing it at the bottom of the duffle bag carefully before rising to her feet.

Her heart rate accelerated as she heard the pitter patter of numerous feet on carpet far too close to her room for comfort. Clearly they had come for her and now she needed to do something. She moved in the direction of the bag, grasping the straps frantically in her hand when the door slammed open.

Jocelyn's head whipped around to see dozens of Shadowhunters swarming into the room, seraph blades blazing in their hands. Their war cries awoke Jonathan who began wailing frantically and fitfully from the bed. Jocelyn barely rose halfway from her position when two sets of arms firmly gripped her shoulders and arms, harshly tugging them behind her back. Jocelyn cried out in pain and began unintelligibly screaming about how there was a mistake and that she had done nothing wrong.

"Can it!" one of the Shadowhunters growled in her ear. He took the hilt of his seraph blade and rammed it into the back of her skull. Jocelyn saw double as the world twisted around her and everything went black.

* * *

**So what do you think? I wanted to show what might have happened. Now This is a little silly to think that Jocelyn would to this but, here it it. If you like it then review.**


	2. Unlawful Evil

**So Here's the next installment of What Should Have Been Said. I love this chapter because it has such a dark aura to it that I think really captures the essence of the Mortal Instruments Series. Tell me What you think when your finished.**

**Disclaimer: The Wonderful Writer of TMI is Cassandra Clare**

* * *

Jocelyn's vision swirled as she attempted to regain consciousness. The images of Shadowhunters, clad in the black hunting gear pouring into her room, danced alongside the darkness of her prison. Jonathan's wails filled her ringing ears and she could only hope and plead to the emptiness that nothing had happened to her little boy. She just got him back. She couldn't lose him. Not again.

"Hello!" she called into the emptiness, praying that someone would come to her aid. "Can anyone hear me?"

Through her ringing ears, Jocelyn heard no sound of movement. Sobs broke through her throat and she cried. "Please! Just tell me about my son! Is he alright? Please tell me he's alright!"

Her cries echoed off the walls of the dark room, shadows engulfing the area and her cries for reassurance were met with stony silence. Spasms of rage rocked her body and she screeched. "Someone answer me!"

Not even her fury could bring someone to her.

Jocelyn's eyes couldn't seem to adjust to the darkness. It surrounded her like a fog and swallowed anything that might have been there into its depths. The shackles of runic fire provided the only dim light for the room, barely illuminating the dim circle for which Jocelyn sat in. Her legs felt like lead and as she wiggled she knew that they would never hold her weight. The darkness seemed to be advancing, constricting like a snake around her, suffocating her as she thought of her poor son who could be anywhere.

Her terror lessened slightly as a brilliant light filled the room. Her head turned and she squinted to see what must have been a door opening. Two dark figures entered the room holding witchlight rune-stones in their raised hands. The door swung shut behind them but their faces could be glimpsed in the glow of the witchlight.

The first was a tall man, towering over Jocelyn even from a distance, with black hair and a cruel face. The witchlight that he held cast ominous shadows over his weathered face, and his dark eyes glared cruelly down on Jocelyn.

The second was a woman with pale blond, almost colorless hair. Her face was severe and here grey eyes like chips of frozen steel glared down at her with unconcealed hatred. Her mouth was set in a line that made it clear that she despised the person whimpering before her.

Her right hand held aloft her witchlight but her other hand held a sword. The sword was a long, silver blade glowing in the darkness, with a hilt carved of outspread angel wings. It had rubies encrusted on its hilt and the woman gripped the hilt with such a force her already pale hands got even paler.

Finally, Jocelyn thought. She was about to get some answers. She cast relieved glances up to the pair and felt that, at least they could answer her questions. Barely managing to gather her strength, Jocelyn pushed herself up with her bound hands, struggling under her own weight. She barely managed to keep herself upright when the man hastened his pace.

"Stay down!" he ordered, a black boot flying out and connecting with Jocelyn's chin. It shot pain through her body and she cried out in pain before her arms gave out and she tumbled to the floor again. Through tear filled eyes she saw the man grinning maniacally at her obvious pain.

"You are Jocelyn Morgenstern," the woman asked. At Jocelyn's docile nod, she continued. "The wife of Valentine Morgenstern?" Again, Jocelyn nodded. "You have been brought before the Clave on war charges and are being tried by the Mortal Sword to ensure honesty. Answer the questions and you can be punished faster."

"Wait," Jocelyn struggled. "What are you talking about? Why am I here? I should be tried in front of the Council."

"You won't be," interrupted the woman. "You are being tried by the pair of us. If you refuse to answer our questions then you will simply be cursed."

"You can't do that," Jocelyn exclaimed through her tears. "The Law states that I'm to be tried in front of the Council!"

The woman came down; sneering at Jocelyn's whimpering form. "Circle members do not get the privilege of a trial in front of impressionable council members. We are your questioners. Answer us."

She lowered the Mortal Sword into Jocelyn's hands, balancing it on her open palms. "_Maellartach,"_ the woman whispered. It glowed upon hearing its name and white light shone from the blade, glowing with divine power.

"Jocelyn Morgenstern," the woman asked. "Are you or are you not a member of Valentine's Circle?"

Jocelyn tried to shake her head but a force like no other encompassed her, as if the hand of God were forcibly holding her head in place. "I won't," she cried through gritted teeth. "I won't answer unless I'm in front of the Council."

"Insolent bitch," the man hissed. "Do you not understand that you're not _getting_ the Council? We'll keep you locked up in her for the rest of your miserable life if you don't answer us!"

"I don't care, she screeched. "I want a fair trial in front of the Council. I won't answer without it."

The man crouched beside the woman and forcefully backhanded her across the face, leaving a significant bruise on her skin and eliciting a cry from her.

"My son," she sobbed. "At least tell me what happened to him."

The woman, relatively calm compared to the man, snarled and her hand shot out to fiercely yank Jocelyn's hair down, her crying in pain at the sudden feeling. Through gritted teeth, the woman snarled "You don't get to talk about _sons_ to me. That thing of yours will get what his father deserves—"

"NO!" Jocelyn screamed. "Don't hurt him! He didn't do anything wrong. He's just a baby for the Angel's sake! Please leave him be."

The woman chuckled darkly. "Why should I leave him alone," she asked. "When he is the best way to demolish Valentine's legacy? If he is gone, so is the last bloody Morgenstern."

"Please," Jocelyn sobbed. "Don't hurt him. Hurt me instead."

"Oh I plan to," the woman replied. "But why should I stop with you? You and every other Circle member will be nothing but a pool of blood when I am through with my search."

"Don't hurt him," Jocelyn breathed.

"I will," the woman promised. "And there's nothing you can do to stop it."

* * *

Annamarie Highsmith was not used to the Gard being so full of activity. In times of relative peace like she had been living in for most of her life, there were little need for such large scale activity inside the Clave headquarters. Still, it was always good to keep on guard and she felt that she was going to be doing quite a bit of work soon.

Consul Dieudonne and Inquisitor Herondale were both AWOL for the time being so the interrogations had, for the most part, be stopped. However, after several hours of nothing happening, the Council decided that it was time to continue the investigation. They were interrogating those that had been earlier deemed trustworthy to tell the truth so that they could figure out what the Circle's plans were, if only bits of them.

Pushing a strand of golden blond curls out of her face, Annamarie turned down the pathway toward the dungeons. She had been ordered to bring the next prisoner up to be interrogated and they were in the holding cells under the Gard.

The walls looked to have been hastily carved out of the wet earth as their damp surfaces dripped water into puddles across the floor. The torches of witchlight cast shadows over the hall and shone on the dark iron doors in the walls. Annamarie slowed to a halt as she heard screams and pleading coming from inside one of the rooms.

"_Please,"_ the voice, a woman, begged. "_Don't hurt my son! He's just a baby!"_ The voice's heartbroken sobs filled her ear as she pressed it up against the door. "_Shut up!"_ another voice hissed. "_I'm going to destroy your son and there's nothing you can do about it."_

What could have been happening, Annamarie thought. Were Circle members in there threatening one another? Could some Shadowhunter guards have gone in their to taunt the Circle members?

_SMACK!_ And a cry rang around, piercing the iron door easily. "_Tell us what we want to know you stupid bitch!"_ another voice snarled.

"_Not until I know you won't hurt my son," _it gasped through obvious pain. The voice was a woman's and Annamarie knew that it was familiar to her, though she could not immediately place it.

Another voice, another woman's, smoothly spoke, the smug arrogance clear even through a door. "_Nothing you say or do will save your son. He will suffer for everything that happened!"_

Having heard enough, Annamarie pushed the door open and strutted into the room. There, in the glow of their witchlight stones, were Consul Dieudonne and Inquisitor Herondale. They both sprung up from crouching in front of a woman lying on the ground behind them.

She had dark red hair hanging limply from her head, blood matting bits of it to her skin. The pale skin had several harsh bruises on it and there were deep circles under her eyes. Legs laid limp behind her and her arms seemed too frail to carry her weight. Looking up, a motion that seemed to require far too much effort, Annamarie saw bright green tear filled eyes.

Horror and rage washed through Annamarie as she looked into those eyes. She knew those eyes. And the face was coming into focus, a memory as sharp as if it had only been yesterday filled her gaze. Two girls, one blond and the other redhead, stood in front of the Clave swearing their loyalty to one another. The rune that symbolized _parabatai_, sisters in arms, being burned into their forearms. Instinctively, Annamarie's hand moved to grip her right forearm.

"Jocelyn," she whispered.

The two standing over her looked to Annamarie with disdain and fury. "What are you doing here?" the woman snapped. "Get out! This is a private matter."

Ignoring the command, a dangerous thing to do when it was given by the Inquisitor, Annamarie ran forward, knocking the man and woman out of the way. Annamarie ripped the Mortal Sword out of Jocelyn's hands and it clattered to the floor. She crouched in front of Jocelyn, pushing the red blood matted hair out of her face as she caressed her friend's face.

Up close the injuries were worse than they appeared. The purplish bruise blossoming on Jocelyn's jaw stretched up to cover most of her cheek. The deep circles under her eyes were almost black and shone under the intensity of the light. Beads of sweat streamed down her face and her heavy breathing was ragged and erratic.

"Oh sweetie," Annamarie sighed. "You'll be okay. I won't let anything happen to you."

"Jonathan," Jocelyn whispered. "Help him."

Annamarie nodded. "Of course sweetie. We'll find him, but first we need to get you some help. Come on," she rose, circling her arm around Jocelyn's waist and pulling her up. "Let's get you out of here."

Jocelyn could not support her own weight at all so Annamarie was forced to shoulder her friend while gripping the Mortal Sword that she had picked up off the floor. The two most powerful members of the Clave, The Consul and The Inquisitor, tried to run forward and stop them.

"You cannot take her!" Herondale exclaimed. "She stays here!"

With the flat of her blade, Annamarie whacked both the Consul and the Inquisitor over the head, knocking them unconscious. Satisfied with her work, Annamarie struggled out of the room with Jocelyn clinging to her side. At the door, she dropped the Sword and pulled out her stele, tracing a locking rune into the metal to seal the pair inside. Then, she took her friend up the halls.

Carrying a limp legged, near-catatonic woman up several flights of damp stone stairs isn't at all easy. The water occasionally dripped on them, but Jocelyn was passed the point of noticing their drops on her as she muttered about her son and having to find him.

When she passed the entryway into the well-lit, well-heated hall of the Gard, Annamarie began yelling.

"Somebody help!" she called. "This woman's been hurt and she needs medical attention! Please!"

Almost immediately, several Shadowhunters ran forward, pulling Jocelyn off of Annamarie and helping carry her through more winding corridors, well-lit and cream colored walls, into an infirmary. Jocelyn was laid down on one of the beds and several Shadowhunters came out with tools to check her heart rate and various other medical know hows that Annamarie knew nothing about.

Several tense moments passed which filled Annamarie with dread over the state of Jocelyn. Slowly, the Shadowhunters filed out of the room. One stopped by Annamarie's shoulder. "A Silent Brother will be here soon," she said.

Annamarie nodded. "Thank you. I'll wait with her."

And so Annamarie was alone with her comatose friend. She sat there, looking down on Jocelyn's face, and worried about what was going to happen to her. Would the Silent Brothers be able to heal her? That was a silly question, of course they would. They could heal anything. The real question was how would she react to not having her son around.

With that in mind, Annamarie rose from her seat. She walked across the room to where the papers were kept, and picked up a blank sheet of paper. On the paper, she jotted down all the questions she needed answered by Lucian Graymark and traced a fire rune on the back of it. The paper ignited upon the rune's completion and Annamarie let the paper drop as it crumbled to ash, hopefully falling into Lucian's waiting hands.

* * *

Luke was frantically conferring with Elodie about what had happened to Jocelyn almost two weeks before. They had been in the kitchen when they suddenly heard screams and wails from somewhere in the Institute and immediately Luke sprinted to see if Jocelyn was alright.

From Jocelyn's room, she managed to see Shadowhunters entering a portal built into the wall across from her room, dragging a limp Jocelyn through with them. Luke had screamed "Stop! Don't hurt her!" He had been hoping that they might hesitate for him to catch up, but no luck. They entered the portal and, two Shadowhunters hastily closed it as Luke reached them, beating his hands against the wall fruitlessly to try and get to her.

Then he turned on the Shadowhunters. Immediately he had punched one of them and kneed another when he tried to retaliate. With them both incapacitated, Luke ran into the room, relieved to find Jonathan inside. He was in the arms of a Shadowhunter woman in black gear but at least he was unhurt.

Raising a knife he had taken from the kitchen, Luke told the woman to put Jonathan down or else. She staunchly refused, saying that Valentine's son should get no courtesy in the eyes of the Clave.

Preparing to strike but fearful of accidentally hurting the boy, Luke inched forward, hoping to get close enough to strike without harming him. That proved to be unnecessary because, at that moment, the woman gave a sharp gasp, falling on her side and releasing Jonathan. Standing behind her, a candlestick in hand, was Elodie.

"I'd thought there was a demon attack," she confessed. "I climbed out the window and planned to come in from behind. I heard what she said. But no child should pay for the sins of their father."

And that had started their alliance. They spent the last two weeks questioning the three captured Shadowhunters to find out what had happened. Elodie had taken Jocelyn to her brother's house and her brother and sister-in-law were watching him with their son Sebastian.

For the most part, the Shadowhunters had been uncooperative. All they had gotten out of them was that Jocelyn had suspiciously closed the curtains of her room and that they were justified in breaking down her door and storming the place. Elodie had sent word to Idris asking if Jocelyn was taken there but the Consul replied that to his knowledge, she was nowhere in Idris. So the remaining Shadowhunters were their only leads.

"I really don't know," the woman said. She put her head in her hands as she sat at the kitchen table, a defeated look on her face.

"The Shadowhunters won't talk," she ticked off on her fingers. "Jocelyn's missing. And then Clave doesn't know anything."

"Malachi _says_ the Clave doesn't know anything," Luke corrected. "He could be lying or someone else in power could be calling the shots."

Reluctantly, Elodie nodded her head. "Maybe," she hissed through gritted teeth. "But none of my connections in Idris have any idea where she is. If the Clave knew about her then one of them would know where she was."

"Unless," Luke droned on, rolling his eyes at the repetition. "Someone very high up is keeping it a secret and no one knows."

"But why would someone do that?" Elodie asked exasperated.

Luke shook his head. "Because," he said again. "Jocelyn was Valentine's wife. They can't punish him but they could punish her. She's the only one that they can punish with him gone."

"I don't know," Elodie said, rising to pace around the room. "Maybe I just don't want to believe that any Clave member would do something like that. I guess I just want them to be innocent."

Lucian understood this. When he had first left the Circle, first been attacked by a werewolf, he had suspected that Valentine might have set him up because he had been questioning him about worries that Jocelyn had shared with him. He didn't want to believe it either but that didn't change the fact that it was true.

"What we need," Lucian thought. "Is a person in Idris that is very high up in the Clave to tell us everything that's going on there. Someone to spy and snoop around there."

"What a lovely thought," Elodie snapped. "But how will we fi…" her voice trailed off as a flash of fire formed in midair, falling into Luke's lap.

Picking it up, he swiftly read it over. His eyes widened and he released a breath he didn't know he was holding as he went through the letter.

"She's safe," he muttered as he read, not taking his eyes from the paper.

"Who is?" Elodie demanded. "Who's safe? Jocelyn? What does it say?"

Luke looked up, relief coloring his features. "Apparently the Inquisitor and the Consul were keeping Jocelyn locked up and she was found by her parabatai. She's being treated as we speak and I need to bring Jonathan to Idris so that he can be there when she wakes up."

Elodie came to a complete halt. "Oh thank God," she whispered. "Well then let's go get the portal open. I'll contact the Clave—"

"No!" interrupted Luke. "There could still be people after Jonathan in the Clave. I'm going to go by car and carriage. My village isn't close enough to Alicante to stop cars from working. I'll take one there and use my family's horse to go the rest of the way."

The stayed silent for a moment, pondering the plan. If it worked, then he could get to Idris safely in less than four days. If not, then he's screwed.

"Alright," Elodie said finally. "But I'm coming with you."

* * *

Brother Zachariah worked calmly over Jocelyn's unconscious form, greatly unnerving Annamarie with his silence. She was used to never actually hearing anything with the Silent Brothers, but for the Angel's sake the water he kept dipping a rag into didn't even make a sound as it splashed.

"Is she going to be alright?" Annamarie groaned.

_She will be fine,_ Brother Zachariah replied. _The wounds are deep but it is the child that concerns me._

Huh? Annamarie hadn't known that Jocelyn was pregnant. They hadn't spoken in weeks due to clashing schedules but she thought Jocelyn would have found the time to tell her _best friend_ that she was going to have another child.

"Will the baby be okay?" she hesitantly asked.

Brother Zachariah nodded, turning so that Annamarie could see kindness in his dark eyes. _The baby will be fine,_ he said, strangely kind. _I am just trying to keep her stable after the stress of the Uprising and the beatings. But the baby will survive. Thankfully, Jocelyn hadn't suffered any direct blows to the abdomen recently so the damage to the girl is minimum. She will be alright by nightfall._

Nodding her head, fearful for her 'niece', Annamarie leaned back in her chair and prayed that Brother Zachariah knew what he was doing.

* * *

**So there it is. I wanted to show the dilemma between Elodie's Kind Yet Clave attitude and Luke's Let's Get Things Done I'm Desperate approach to finding Jocelyn. And I thought adding in Annamarie would be a nice touch.**


	3. Working Peace

**And so here is chapter three. I've gotta say that this chapter was really tough to write. But I'm really happy with the end result. I particularly like Jocelyn's dream. Tell me what you think.**

**Disclaimer: All characters and world belong to the almighty powerful Cassandra Clare.**

* * *

_Dreams of blackness, of the stars dying as the light of the world was smothered, filled Jocelyn's mind as she dreamt. Within these visions stood Jonathan, older then she knew him to be, and the cruel smirk on his face horrified her. She had left him alone, and he had turned into that._

"_What's the matter, Mother?" he sneered the word. "Is your little boy upsetting you? Well sorry. I guess I'll always be a disappointment."_

"_No!" she begged. "Don't do this Jonathan. You're good. The Angel made you—"_

"_What Angel," he asked, "can interfere with demonic blood? They are opposites. Or maybe," he paused. "You just didn't love me enough to save me. You abandoned me. I was all alone when Valentine came because you weren't strong enough to fight off a few Shadowhunters." She noticed the rage in his eyes couldn't mask that they appeared to be watering with his words. "You let this happen to me!" roared Jonathan. "If you had tried harder than you could have been there to stop Valentine from taking me! But you weren't," he broke off, turning his head. "You weren't there."_

"_Jonathan," she whispered. "I tried. I tried to be there for you. But I couldn't. There were too many of them for me to fight off. They came to fast for me to fight. There was nothing I could have done."_

"_You actually believe that don't you," he demanded. "You really have convinced yourself that there was nothing you could have done. Well, let me tell you that there's _always_ something you could have done. It's just people like you that tell themselves different that stops the world from being a better place."_

_She looked at her son. Eyes black and hair white, he looked like of her that had been in him was drained out and all that was left was Valentine. Only the vulnerability, the vengeful grief, looked like it came from her._

"_I am so sorry," Jocelyn pleaded. "Please forgive me."_

_Jonathan looked at her. There was a confusion to his gaze that gave her hope that she might be getting through to him. Slowly, never taking his eyes from her, he said "Say it."_

_Jocelyn thought she understood. She had upset him. He needed to hear her._

"_I'm sorry."_

_Jonathan looked at her, eyes hardening. The tears spilled from his eyes and his lips rose into a snarl. His head shot away to look at the ground and the vision faded to blackness._

* * *

Jocelyn let out a little gasp as her eyes shot open. Her cheeks were wet and her gasps erratic as she tried to take in her surroundings. As her eyes adjusted to the brightness she noticed that the ceiling for the room she was in had a motif of clouds and cherubs painted into it.

She had grown up believing that this was God's way of welcoming those dying in sickrooms into heaven. The idea was very possible, he father would say. Little things like the pattern on the ceiling that showed God was watching over his people.

As she grew up, Jocelyn lost that naïve sense of guidance and love. She began to realize that, if you wanted someone safe, you had to protect them on your own. No one else could be trusted to do it right.

"Hey," a light, chirpy voice said from next to her. Jocelyn let out a sharp gasp as her head snapped around to see a woman with well-tended to blond curls framing a heart-shaped face. Blue eyes looked kindly down on Jocelyn and she recognized the face.

"Jonathan," she said urgently, her voice cracking as she realized how dry it was.

The blond nodded. "Don't worry," she assured, handing Jocelyn a cup of water. "I talked to Lucian. He's bringing Jonathan here as we speak. It should only be a couple more hours."

"Thank you," Jocelyn replied, sipping her water. The cool liquid ran down her throat and revitalized her sore and chapped throat while cooling down her mouth. "How long was I out?"

Annamarie shrugged. "Hard to say," she speculated. "I found you a day and a half ago. But you were nearly catatonic when I did. You could have been unconscious for a lot longer before I found you."

"Anna," Jocelyn said, using her childhood nickname. "Thanks for finding me."

Naturally, Annamarie scoffed. "Of course I would find you," thinking otherwise was ridiculous. "We're best friends. Parabatai. Sisters. Nothing will ever change that."

"I know," Jocelyn confirmed. "So tell me, what's been happening since I left after the Uprising?"

Annamarie paused. What had been happening? Her worry over Jocelyn had left her blind to the world for several days. Ever since she found out that Jocelyn wasn't at the Accords Hall during the battle but knowing she was still alive made Annamarie a bit frantic. Still, she did remembers several events from after the battle.

"The Circle lost," she said, happy that Jocelyn hiccupped a laugh at the obvious answer. "Most were killed or captured. Those that got away will be tracked down eventually I'm sure. The Inquisitor was killed. The woman that tor—tortured you," she stuttered over the phrase. "Was Imogen Herondale. She was named Inquisitor upon the old guy's death."

"Wait," Jocelyn interrupted. "I was tortured by the Inquisitor? What the hell?"

"I know," Annamarie assured her friend. "I know. But don't worry. She and Malachi were apprehended and are awaiting trial as we speak."

"Malachi?" Jocelyn exclaimed, her voice cracking. "The Consul was the other guy torturing me? What is it with these Clave officials?"

Annamarie mulled over the question for a moment. "Insanity," she decided. "That and sadistic tendencies."

Jocelyn laughed at the answer to her rhetorical question. "Anything else?"

"The Circle," Annamarie confessed. "They've been captured but none of them are talking. They are so loyal to a dead man that they refuse to say anything. If this keeps up then they'll all be cursed." She paused for a moment, considering. "Not that they won't be anyway. For what they did I'm sure that there'll be some serious penalties. The only ones that might escape that kind of fate are the Lightwoods and Hodge Starkweather. They surrendered. They should receive clemency for that."

Jocelyn nodded, telling herself that she would visit the Lightwoods and Hodge to tell them to cooperate. Maybe they would listen to her, another member of the Circle. It was the least she could do for not telling them about the Uprising.

* * *

Luke's village was a rural place with farmers being the vast majority of people. The villagers only knew of one wealthy family in a ten mile radius—the Fairchilds. Jocelyn's family was wealthy, the only known direct descendants of Jonathan Shadowhunter, and their estate just happened to be located not far from the village.

Luke and Elodie drove swiftly down the dirt roads of Idris. They had been driving for several hours and, to the relief of the both of them, they had almost reached the village limits.

"Lucian," Elodie asked. "What if your parents aren't here?"

Luke shrugged. "Then we're screwed."

Thankfully, that wasn't the case. As they drove up to his house, Luke saw his mother and father in the sitting room window, talking and laughing with their back to him. As he pulled the car to a stop, he told Elodie that they had arrived.

With a knock on the door, Luke and Elodie, Jonathan in her arms, waited. A moment later, the door opened to reveal Thomas Graymark. His brown hair was scattered with quite a bit of grey hair and his cheerful smile widened as he saw Luke standing there.

"Luke!" he exclaimed, pulling his son into a one armed hug. "How are ya buddy?"

"Hey dad," he replied. "I'm good. This is Elodie Verlac and we need your help."

Thomas nodded immediately. "Of course. Come on in the both of you."

He led them into the sitting room where he said "Evelyn. Look who decided to drop by for a visit."

Luke's mother was a very pretty woman with blond hair and blue eyes. She was in her fifties and her bright smile widened to reveal deeply set laugh lines as she saw her son. "Luke!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around her son. "Sweetie it's so good to see you."

"Hi mom," he said, wrapping his arms around her. "It's great to see you, too." He turned around to face Elodie. "Mom, Dad. This is Elodie Verlac. She runs that Paris Institute and, when Jocelyn was kidnapped she helped me—"

"Jocelyn was kidnapped?" Evelyn screeched. "Why didn't anyone tell us?"

"Well," Luke started. "It turns out Malachi and the new Inquisitor orchestrated it as revenge for her marrying Valentine. I just got a letter from Annamarie asking me to bring Jonathan to Alicante."

"Jonathan?" Thomas asked. "I take it that's this little fellow." He smiled, rubbing Jonathan's reddish hair.

"Yep," Luke confirmed. "This is Jocelyn's son. She's been anxious to see him so we were bringing him."

"Alright," Evelyn agreed. "What do you need?"

"The carriage," Luke replied. "We can't take the car to Alicante so we need a carria—"

"Say no more," Thomas replied. "But we insist that you stay for lunch."

"Thanks dad," Luke replied gratefully. "And lunch would be great. We've been on the road for hours."

"And," Elodie interrupted. "Someone forgot the cooler of food."

Luke mock sighed. They had been having this discussion for hours. "I said I was sorry. I wanted to get to the city."

"Oh I know," Elodie answered, innocence in her gaze. "Just be glad I had Jonathan's pack or he wouldn't have any baby formula."

Luke's parents watched the two banter, amusement on their faces. They glanced at one another before Evelyn went off to prepare their lunch. She even said that she would make extra for them to take on the road to make up for her son's terrible memory.

They sat around the table, a nice glazed ham in front of them that Evelyn said she had been saving for dinner but insisted that they have for lunch. Jonathan sat in a high chair that Evelyn had kept from Luke's sister's baby days and was gripping his bottle in both hands to drink.

"So," Evelyn asked. "When did you two meet?"

"Well," Elodie began. "I run the Paris Institute. When Lucian and Jocelyn came with baby Jonathan, asking for help, I let them in. I contacted the Clave as procedure went, and the next day Jocelyn was kidnapped. The two of us have been working to find her for the past two weeks. It was a relief to get that letter from Annamarie Highsmith saying that Jocelyn was in Alicante.

"I decided to go with Lucian because I wasn't sure if someone would try to attack them while on the road. Jocelyn had already been taken under my watch so I decided that it would be best if another Shadowhunter was with him if only to take care of Jonathan on the road."

"So who took her?" Thomas asked.

Luke's hands clenched on the table as he thought back to what he had heard. "Apparently, Consul Dieudonne and Inquisitor Herondale thought that the only way to punish Valentine would be to torture his family."

"Wait," Evelyn interrupted. "The Clave allowed that?"

Elodie shook her head. "No," she denied vehemently. "They were acting without the Clave's knowledge. I just thought that there might be some people that agreed with them around so it made sense to have an extra guard going into the city."

The remainder of their dinner consisted of small talk about how life on the farm was for Evelyn and Thomas while comparing it to the city life the Elodie led. Luke tried to remain attentive while his parents talked but he couldn't get the image of Jocelyn, bloodied and carried off, out of his head. Finally dinner ended and the two set off.

"Thanks again Mom," Luke said for the tenth time, pulling his mother into another hug. Her eyes had tears in them as she watched him set off back to the carriage.

"I know you have to go Sweetie," Evelyn confessed. "But it seems like I just got you back. First there was the Circle. Then lycanthropy. Now you're back and I don't want you to go."

"Mom," Luke sighed, pulling her into another hug. "I promise to keep in touch. I'll be back by the end of the month, I promise. And hopefully Jocelyn will be with me."

Evelyn nodded, separating from her son. Thomas wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close as they watched Luke head over to the carriage, helping Elodie up while she held Jonathan in her arm.

"He'll be alright," Thomas assured Evelyn, looking at his son with pride.

Evelyn nodded, letting the tears run free as she watched her son set off in the carriage. "I know he will."

* * *

Imogen sat against the cold wall of the Gard prison like a bag of flour thrown carelessly to the ground. The darkness masked the source of dripping water that rang in her ears and echoed off the icy walls of her cell.

She pushed a strand of her pale blonde hair out of her face as she stared at the door. It was unsurprising that she ended up in here after that tramp Annamarie found her questioning Morgenstern. The bitch always did have a way of driving all authority figures up walls. Imogen was no different, she supposed.

The iron door of her cell had a strange look to it. An ominous feel that the Clave clearly used to intimidate those that were held within its walls. Despite that, Imogen refused to feel fear. She was a Herondale, for the Angel's sake. One of the most influential families in the Clave. There were plenty of contacts for her to use to get herself out of the mess she had been tricked in to. No harm would be done to her.

The strange _CLUMP! CLUMP!_ of footsteps on stone alerted Imogen of another presence. The footsteps grew steadily louder and she felt in her bones that something monumental was about to happen.

Not feeling the least bit worried, Imogen stared up at the door, looking to see who would be visiting her. Perhaps the new Consul? Or maybe guards coming to free her? Either scenario was fine with Imogen. She would be free soon enough and to pass the time she began tapping her fingers against the stone ground, the rhythmic beat echoing off the chamber walls in sync with the patter of water.

The latch of the door was opened and through it Imogen could see dark eyes like tunnels. They gazed at her with cruel delight and she knew that those eyes would never hold any sort of genuine kindness, preferring to show dry amusement to the world. The face was partially shrouded in darkness but Imogen needed no light to identify the man.

"You," she breathed, glare intensifying a hundredfold at the sight of the man that took her son from her and destroyed her family.

With a deep bass chuckle, the man replied. "Me. It is lovely to see you again, my dear Imogen. It really has been far too long."

"What do you want?" she demanded, looking at him with hate filled eyes.

One white blonde eyebrow rose at her question. "Want?" he asked. "Why, to tell you all about your lovely grandson Jonathan."

At his words, Imogen's blood ran cold. "My grandson died," she snarled. "Because of you! His father was killed and his mother took his life before he was even born! All of this happened because you destroyed my family. You took Stephen from me! It is YOUR FAULT!"

"Oh Imogen," Valentine said softly. "You understand so little. Now let me enlighten you."

* * *

"So," Jia said for the tenth time. "You were in Paris when you went to the bedroom to check on the Mortal Cup."

With a nod, Jocelyn replied "Yes. I needed to check up on it. How could I be sure that Valentine didn't have spies sneaking around my room?"

One hand held the Mortal Sword, this time taken of her own free will, and the other was tenderly held by Annamarie. The blonde sat in a chair next to Jocelyn's bed and kept shooting warning glances at the questioner whenever Jocelyn so much as flinched at a question.

Jia paced around the infirmary of Gard, staunchly ignoring the glares she was receiving from the blonde haired woman. "But why take the Cup to begin with?" she asked effortlessly. "If you were so worried about Valentine hurting your second child then why would you take something that you knew he would be targeting should he ever make another bid for power?"

Shrugging, Jocelyn shook her head. "I didn't see it that way," she confessed. "I saw it as stopping him from using the Cup to kill hundreds of children and thousands of Downworlders."

Annamarie sat by Jocelyn's side, squeezing her hands when the difficult parts of the story needed to be told. Her friend had been so good through everything and Jocelyn couldn't have been more grateful. Not once had Annamarie left her side and she had someone that would listen to her troubles despite them being silly and her dreams horrific.

"I don't mean to repeat this," Jia apologized. "But I need to get all the facts of the story. You found out about the Uprising. Okay. You plotted to stop him. In fear of Valentine's wrath you fled. The Angel Raziel came to you, and you know that that's going to be extremely difficult to get through the Clave, and gave you your son back from Valentine's clutches while curing a werewolf of the disease. You went to the Institute and were kidnapped by Shadowhunters on the former Inquisitor and Consul's orders and taken to Alicante where you were tortured. And through all of that you have no idea what happened to the Mortal Cup after you were taken?"

Jocelyn sighed and looked pleadingly at Jia. I know that this is difficult to believe, but it's the truth. I had only just managed to hide the Cup when my door was busted down. It could still be there or someone could have stolen it. I don't know."

Thankfully, her honestly could not be questioned at all. The Sword's power made her words, the truth, flow like honey down a spile. The Mortal Sword seemed much less antagonistic in her hands now that she was holding it willingly. Without the dark of dungeons to cast menacing shadows on the blade, Jocelyn could only describe it as magnificent.

"I just have one more question," Jia said, interrupting her thoughts. "What makes you so sure that Valentine's alive?"

That stopped Jocelyn's answer. What made her think it? How could she know? All she knew was that he did indeed survive the battle and the fire. He had to have.

"Because," she said, drawing out her answer. "Valentine won't die until the cause he's striving for dies. So long as people hate Downworlders, her or others like him will always exist."

* * *

**And there it is. I really loved the whole Valentine confronting/taunting Imogen bit. Talk about, I think, in character. Can't you just see him going to a woman he hates and mocking her with her grandson. Plus, entering the Gard without getting caught, a total display of power. Tell me how awesome it was in a couple of reviews.**


	4. Political Maneuvers

**So this is the next chapter of What Should have been said. I've got to say that This was a tough, yet rewarding one. I got to save a character that I've always wondered about whil trying my hand at a little action writing. Tell me how it was.**

**Disclaimer: I own none of the Mortal Instruments Series.**

* * *

Lorna Oldwood bounced in the rocking chair beside the crib. Her slim, nimble fingers tapped against the armrest in a hectic rhythm that mixed with the soft sighs from the baby in echoing off the nursery walls. Her head jerked back and forth, black hair the color of charcoal straggled around her head as she scanned the room.

Valentine had left only an hour before, to visit a prisoner of the Clave he had said, and she was left alone with the baby. Little baby Jonathan; his last name was unknown to her, slept peacefully in his cradle. His flowing golden hair was a halo around his face and his unblemished face. His plump cheeks and infantile goodness gave him the appearance of a cherub resting before taking the mantle of guarding the world.

Lorna found it bewildering that this innocent little boy could have any connection to the man that she knew to have orchestrated the Battle of the Hall of the Angel and spilled the blood of countless Downworlders. Were children not meant to resemble their caretakers? Valentine had overseen this child for months and yet the boy seemed to have no traits that she would have connected to him.

The sharp deep tapping of feet on stone could be heard in the distance, too swift to be Valentine and too soft to be a clear sighted mortal servant. With those eliminated Lorna knew. Only one person could have possibly made those footsteps.

The door was thrown open and Lorna saw that she was correct. The woman at the door had flowing blond hair that shone gold in the shimmering witchlight and fell around her head like a halo around the heads of saints in mosaic windows. Her gentle heart shaped face was unlined save for the creases in her forehead from scrunching her eyebrows together. Radiant brown eyes gazed to the crib and she hurried over to it. She was an average height and wore black hunting gear with several weapons hanging from her belt.

"Lorna," she said turning to her. "We need to leave."

Lorna shook her head, worry crossing her face. "What?" she asked, perplexed. "What do you mean? Cel—"

"No!" the woman exclaimed in a whisper. "We have to go. Valentine's gone for now; off to the Gard to mock Imogen Herondale. Now may be our only chance to get out of here. Please," she urged Lorna. "You didn't hear him last night. The rage, the fury, in him when he discovered that little Jace's eyes were brown now—" she shook her head. "I'm scared about what he might do to him. Valentine isn't who he used to be. We need to leave."

The determination in the blond woman's face, a cold ferocity that Lorna doubted ever graced her delicate complexion, was ultimately what convinced Lorna. If the kind, caring, and delicate girl before her could be driven to such terror then it must be serious. For Céline so rarely experienced anything but happiness and only after her husband's death did she actually begin to come back to earth in terms of emotional range. Since his death, Céline had become much more sensible. However, nothing seemed to truly breach her positive cage. For Valentine's rage to affect her in such a way, to drive her to such an extreme fear, whatever it was must have been serious.

"Alright," Lorna agreed, rising to her feet. "We should get moving if we want to get out before Valentine gets back. Why don't you get Jonathan ready and I'll go get changed into gear." At that she gestured to her flimsy pajamas.

Céline nodded. "You get going." She turned her head to Jonathan. "Hey Jace," she squealed in a baby voice, alerting Lorna to Jonathan being awake again. "We're gonna be goin somewhere soon so why don't I get you all ready to go."

Lorna left the woman playing with the baby, hurrying down the hall to her room. She would need to be ready fast if they wanted to ensure that they were out before Valentine got back from wherever he was.

From her closet she pulled out her gear—rough material made of leather beaten so thin it was flexible—and swiftly pulled it on. It hugged her body as it always did and Lorna hurried around her room to grab several weapons. There were scarcely any weapons—a few seraph blades and some daggers—but it would have to do. Feeling that there was nothing left to look for, Lorna set off.

Back in the nursery, Lorna laughed at the sight of Jonathan bundled in a thick wool coat and wrapped in a dozen blankets. His face was red as he gurgled in his little cavern and Céline held him tightly to herself.

At Lorna's incredulous look, Céline asked "What? It's the end of fall and it's freezing outside! He might freeze."

Putting her hands up, Lorna shook her head. "I didn't say anything." Turning serious, she said "We really should get going. Valentine could be back soon if his meeting ends early."

Nodding, Céline hustled forward. "You're right. You're right. Let's get a move on. It shouldn't take us long to get out of the manor. Then all we'll have to do is get to Alicante and it'll be all over. Jace'll be safe and we can both get on with our lives."

Both women exited the nursery, hurrying down the halls and stairwells until they came to the main entrance. They looked to each other worried. Céline glanced to the doorway at the side of the room.

"I don't like this," she fretted. "Maybe we should take the service entrance. It's never used and Valentine might come back while we're leaving from the front gates."

Lorna thought there were some serious flaws in that plan—where was the service entrance? What if Valentine got home before they left?—but she thought that arguing would only waste time that they didn't have. "If you say so," she conceded.

They took off through the door, much narrower halls and stairs were followed on their way around the manor. The gloomy grey stone walls seemed to echo their footsteps hauntingly, allowing anyone in the manor to know of their departure should they listen closely enough. Thankfully, Céline did know where the service entrance was.

The door, a rickety old wooden door with a rusted handle and stuck hinges, wouldn't open for them no matter how much they tried. Lorna put all her strength into pushing it open, obtaining little help from Céline who was worried about hurting Jonathan.

"Out of the way," Céline announced after Lorna's tenth try. She moved to the side to let Céline through and, with a touch of irritation, saw that the girl had a thin silvery rod in hand which she placed at the center of the door. She moved the stele across the wooden surface and from the tip a thick black line swirled outward, forming into a pattern of matrix swirls that Lorna knew to mean open. The Rune of Opening. Of course, she berated herself, why hadn't she thought of that?

Upon completion, the rusted hinges shuttered and the door swung outward, revealing the outside world to them. The dark, ominous forest outside loomed nearer then from the front and cast dark shadows over the entrance.

Céline ran out and, as she passed the doorway, Jonathan started crying. Céline pulled him close as she ran while murmuring in his ear soothing promises of sleep and protection.

Lorna ran after her. As she passed the doorway she understood why Jonathan was crying. When she left, there was a feeling of passing through a waterfall and her ears seemed to pop like she had gone very high into the air. Lorna paid that no mind as she ran after Céline and into the forest. As the manor door faded into the trees, all she noticed was the blackness that encompassed her

* * *

After several, conscious, days of being in the infirmary, Jocelyn was pleased that she was finally being released. Dozens of times she had been question. Why had she gone? How did she discover Valentine's plot? Could he rise again? The most common question, she noticed, was _where was the Mortal Cup_? She had been the last to have it and, particularly as Valentine's wife, she was the prime suspect to have it.

Annamarie was the only one that didn't seem bothered by the Cup's disappearance. She never asked Jocelyn anything about it and kept her informed of everything that was going on in the Clave.

Despite all of that, Jocelyn couldn't help but worry. Annamarie had sent for Lucian three days earlier and he had yet to arrive. He had sent swift updates, telling of being forced to stop for the night on dark roads and of pit stops to his parents' house. It felt as if he were making excuses and it worried her.

"Josie," Annamarie's voice called from behind her. Jocelyn turned to see Annamarie, worry and trace amounts of anger on her face, followed by two Shadowhunters dressed in black gear with thin grey cloaks thrown over them. Both of them, one dark-skinned and another tanned, had ink black markings all over their body and expressionless faces.

"Jocelyn Morgenstern," the dark-skinned man said in a deep bass voice. "The Council is ready to stand trial."

His tone of voice startled Jocelyn. It seemed like he, and the other man by the looks of it, were escorting her to an execution rather than a trial.

Still, Jocelyn nodded, knowing that the trial was going to occur. She had donned her black gear and brushed her hair out of her face, careful to prevent it from falling onto her face during the trial. Annamarie had brought her a little make-up and she had put some eye shadow and lipstick on herself. Having repeated the speeches over and over again, Jocelyn knew what she would say. She was ready.

"Well then," she said, walking forward. "Let's get on with it."

* * *

The side of a road to Alicante wasn't the most pleasant resting point, but Luke and Elodie made due just fine. Elodie had Jonathan sitting in the carriage and she stood just outside the door, playing peek-a-boo as he squealed. Luke stood to the back of the carriage, looking through the supplies anxiously. They would only have enough for one more day and he didn't know if they would be able to get there by then. Still, they had to try and who knows, they may have been closer than he could tell.

Luke sighed, sealing the back of the carriage before walking around to Elodie. "We should get going," he told her.

She turned away from her game with Jonathan, curiously glancing at him. "What's wrong?" she asked curiously.

Luke shook his head. "Nothing," he denied. "I just want to get going soo we can get to Jocelyn. Annamarie said her trial was today. She needs some comfort and Jonathan might give it to her."

"Or," Elodie went. Raising an eyebrow at him. "She might give it to you?"

Luke stopped, swinging around to face her. Was he really that anxious? "No," he denied, apparently a feeble attempt from her expression. "She's my oldest friend," he confessed. I just want her to be alright."

Elodie nodded, turning to Jonathan who had started wailing. "Alright," she said, a tone that said the conversation wasn't over. "But when we get to Alicante, we need a place to stay."

"Who cares about that?" Luke asked. "We need to get to the Gard."

"I get that," she tried again. "But what about afterward? What about when we need to sleep? We'll need a place to stay."

"We can worry about that," Luke went on, trying to ignore her protests. "After we've seen Jocelyn."

Elodie sighed, afraid that they would be forced to have this conversation. "Lucian listen," she tried. "I know you want to find Jocelyn right away. But we need a Clave member from the city to help us get to the Gard! I don't remember how to get there and you haven't been in the city for sightseeing in years. There has to be someone who knows their way around and can help us."

Lucian opened his mouth to respond, adamant that they needed to find Jocelyn immediately, but stopped before the words could come out. The wind had shifted and he could smell a strange, tarrish tang, burning rubber mixed with garbage. Then, he saw the dark figure looming in the reflection of the window and swirled around.

The monstrous thing was like a black furred gorilla with putrid tusks protruding from its mouth and dripping brackish saliva onto the grassy terrain, leaving sizzling ground in its wake. Its arms, elongated and brutish, raised to pummel Luke to a pulp.

As its fist came, down, Luke thanked the Angel that he had still had his agility, barely escaping the fist's trajectory on its way down. The thing howled in rage, causing Elodie to swirl around to see it. Suddenly it wasn't just a fight against a demon, for there were a dozen other demons of various shapes and species coming forward.

Elodie ripped a silver dagger from its sheath and jumped forward, slamming the carriage door behind her. She slashed the blade across one of the demon's faces, making it howl in pain and shrink back. With a lash out at another of them, she landed a blow in the chest and watched as the demon fell to the ground before folding in on itself to return to its home dimension.

Luke wasn't faring as well as Elodie. He had only two daggers on him and it had been years since he had fought with only blades as weapons. He slashed and lunged at the demons and they made their way toward him. Their hissing and growling voices blended together in a melody of destruction that was barely discernible.

"_Destroy them,"_ one hissed, gleeful at the chance. "_But save the baby. Master Valentine wants the baby."_

"_Enough," _another, larger one growled. "_The child must be spared!"_

A cackling voice, like the shrill sound of a deranged killer, sounded in the mix. "_But we can eat them. Ha ha ha! Let's get ourselves a snack!"_

That one didn't get a chance to continue as, in a blur of black, Elodie stood in front of Luke and struck the blade into the demon's chest, not sparing it a glance as she whipped it out and swerved to strike another. Stunned by her sudden intervention, the demons only stood there.

Seizing his chance, Luke lunged for the large gorilla, both blades in hand, and sunk them into either side of the demon's chest. He kicked himself off of the beast as it shrunk down, pushing into another of the beasts.

From the corner of his eye he saw a demon closing in on the carriage, wails from Jonathan coming from inside. Abandoning the green-skinned oni demon he was fighting, Luke sprung onto the alligator-like demon and drove his blade home.

Unlike the rest of the demons, the blade shattered on impact. The demon's skin was too strong for a mere blade laced with runes to be able to puncture. Luke knew that he had only seconds to get a stronger weapon or the demon would kill him. But what could he use? He thought back to the Paris Institute. He and Elodie had stocked up on seraph blades and various other weapons into their car. They had transferred theminto the back of the carriage, but what could he do? If he left the demon it would kill Jonathan.

Realizing that he was about to be killed, Luke jumped off just as the demon's head snapped around to kill him. It seemed to be distracted with killing him so he ran to the back of the carriage, throwing it open hastily, and pulled out one of the seraph blades.

"_Jahoel_," he cried, the blade springing to life in his hand. The light seemed to burn the demon, making it shy away from the blade. During its fear, he lunged forward and swooped the blade down, breaking through the armor and severing the demon in two.

"_Ahhh_!" Luke heard Elodie cry. His head whipped around to see a demon's teeth gripping her arm and she fruitlessly tried to shake it off.

Save for the one demon they were alone in the clearing so Luke had no trouble rushing forward, Jahoel in in hand, to help his friend. He slashed the blade across the back of the demon's hide, making it cry out and release Elodie long enough for her to free herself from its grip.

It took several more slashes, demon ichor spraying onto his clothes, before Luke watched the demon fold into nothingness. Satisfied that the danger was passed, Luke rushed over to Elodie.

The was whimpering on the ground, clutching her bitten arm tenderly, as if she was afraid it might fall off. Kneeling down next to her, Luke gently caressed the arm, bringing it up to look at for a few moments to try and assess the damage done.

Ten heavy teeth marks were ingrained into her arm, piercing through her gear and radiating hate from their open pulsing. The marks weren't deep, thank the Angel, but left untreated they would surely kill her. Unfortunately Luke didn't have the skills to treat her on his own. Only a Silent Brother, with their extensive knowledge of Nephilim treatments, would be any help to her.

Gently picking her up into his arms, Luke carried her to the back of the carriage, laying her down behind the wooden wall as to not allow Jonathan to her in such a state. He didn't need those images troubling is young mind.

"Well, Elodie," he huffed as he carried. "You were right after all."

With her safely in the back Luke rushed forward, taking the reins while rocking a sobbing Jonathan, and they set off.

* * *

**So there it was. My chapter. What's gonna happen to Jocelyn at her trial? It Elodie alright? THey still have a day to the city and will she last that long? Who's this Lorna and Why does Celine seem to trust her? It'll all be answered, evenually, in the What Should Have Been Said chronicles.**

**Also...Review! **


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